Things That Go Bang In The Night
by alwaysflying
Summary: Collins. Roger. A lingerie store. Overnight. Oh no.


Victoria's Secret.

One place that Collins _never _expected to find himself. It is simply not a plausible destination for homosexual men who wear clothing suiting their own gender.

But with Christmas coming up, he simply couldn't think of anything better to do for Angel. There has to be _something _in here that will fit her, right? Hopeful, Collins ambles around the store. He has two goals: one, to pass himself off as completely straight, because there's bound to be a problem if someone thinks he's shopping for _himself_. Of course, that means that he has to pretend to admire girls' bodies, which earns him some dirty looks. _Yeah, well, fuck off_, he thinks lazily to himself.

The second goal, of course, is to find something that will fit his lover.

So. What would Angel like?

He browses the shelves, wincing at the the silk so-and-sos and other things he doesn't know the names for. Just as he thinks he's found something – it's pink, extremely lacy, and might even come in a size that will accommodate Angel's additional organ – there is a tap on his shoulder. "Could you get the hell out of the – oh my god."

Collins knows that voice. And oh god, yes, it _is _Roger. A very flustered Roger, whose cheeks are tinged with red from being out in the cold. "Oh, _excellent_," Roger exclaims. "You can help me. See, I need to get something for Mimi, and I can't find anything, and – "

"Roger," Collins points out dryly, "please keep in mind that I'm gay. If you think I'm able to pick out women's clothing for your girlfriend, who is nineteen, by the way, you are wrong." He looks at a certain display and mumbles, "Not only nineteen, but also flat-chested enough to _not fit into any of these_. Kind of like Angel," he adds bitterly. "And do they make women's underwear to accommodate a dick? _No!"_

When Roger recovers from his cackling, Collins merely stares stonily at him. "That isn't funny," he tells Roger solemly.

"Yeah, it is," Roger argues. "It's probably the funniest thing since Mark drank what he thought was tea this morning."

"What was it?"

Snickering, Roger replies, "Piss."

"And it was in a cup…?"

"Yep," replies Roger, and Collins has the vague suspicion that he will be hearing no further explanation.

With a roll of his eyes, Collins turns his attention to a saleslady. "Hi," he says cheerfully. "Do you have any women's underwear that would fit a guy?"

The woman's face takes on a look of disgust, and her cheeks redden. _Ignoramus_, Collins thinks vengefully, but is snatched away from the scene as Roger grabs his wrist and pulls him into a dressing room. The lock clicks shut. "We'll be safe here," pants Roger, breathing deeply as he collapses against the wall.

"You are such a drama queen," Collins retorts. "Was there any reason for that?"

Roger laughs. "Sure. I didn't want you to get beat up by some old lady."

"Uh-huh, Roger, you're right. I am _so sure _that was it."

"It was," Roger swears. "Totally. Not 'cause I would ever want to be stuck in a dressing room with a cranky gay guy who can't find underwear to fit his, ahem. Partner."

The jabs merely go back and forth for the next twenty minutes, after such time Roger pulls a sandwich out of his inner coat pocket and bites into it. "Oh, fuck," he mumbles, mouth full. "It has meat in it, or I'd offer you a bite. I could take some out and you could…"

"No thanks, Roger," Collins cuts in, still slightly revolted by the story of Mark's early-morning beverage. "Hey, Rog?"

"Yeah?"

Choosing his words carefully, Collins inquires, "Did you ever… um… do that trick when _I _was living with you guys?"

"The thing with the piss in the mug?"

Collins nods.

"Oh, yeah, loads of times."

This is not a comfort to him. At all. In fact, Collins stands up and lays his fingers on the doorknob. Before Roger can leap up to stop him, the door is open, and the store empty, save for a few employees. In the near-silence, Collins can hear a woman on the phone: "…yes, disorderly conduct, there was a man in here who was asking if we sold women's underwear that could, ahem, _fit _a man…"

The door is closed before Collins can flip her off and scream something about assholes.

"Yeah, so we're gonna stay in here for awhile," Roger declares between bites. "M'kay?"

Collins just grumbles in assent, although whether it means "yes" or "no" is completely up for debate.

---

The next three hours are some of the most unpleasant moments of Collins' life. Ever.

As it turns out, without some form of distraction, Roger can be incredibly annoying. In fact, he never shuts up. His babble is nonstop and idiotic and, if it has some sort of point behind it, it is imperceptible. He rambles about everything under the sun, from AZT to Mimi's ass. However, even this is not the worst of Roger's quirks.

When Roger is alone, and apparently Collins' presence still means that he is alone, he has a habit of singing.

No, it isn't singing the way he does – or used to do – at gigs, or even the way he sings in the shower. When Roger is alone, he merely mumbles the words, as though practicing so he does not forget his own lyrics.

After this has been going on for maybe thirty minutes, Collins' neck snaps over to Roger as he comments, "You're just going to have to _stop_."

Roger fakes a pout, but seeing that that isn't going to work, he reverts his expression back to normal. Stretching out, his toes flex up and scrape against the bottom of the door. "What time is it?" he yawns.

"Six," Collins replies, before he realizes.

He told Angel he was going to work. He is usually home from work by seven at the latest.

Oh, _fuck_.

Collins stands up and crosses to the door. "I'm leaving," he announces. The door creaks open…

…and the front door of Victoria's Secret slams shut. The lights flicker off, the door is locked, and Collins groans audibly. "They close up early on Christmas Eve, huh?"

"They knew we were in here," Roger points out vindictively.

Collins laughs. "They're assholes, Roger, what do you expect?"

"So we're gonna be here all night?!" the musician demands, starting to panic. "Mimi expects me home by – "

With a loud groan, Collins nods. "I guess so," he mumbles. "Angel's going to _freak out_. I told her I was at work."

Roger laughs. "I told Mimi I was out for lunch with Mark."

"Where's Mark?"

Cackling, Roger answers, "At the doctor's."

"Oh, _god_, Roger."

---

It is nine o'clock, and Collins and Roger have decided to act like they are drunk to keep their minds off their respective lovers. It seemed a good idea at first, but now that Roger is gushing details about all the nasty pranks he's pulled on Collins, Benny, Mark and Maureen in the past, Collins is starting to wonder why he doesn't just go pick a different dressing room. The answer to that is that he simply has no inclination to do so, because while Roger is definitely annoying, he is also entertaining.

"Hey, Col?"

Too exhausted to speak, Collins rolls his head over to the other side of his neck so that he is facing Roger. "Mmm?"

"Angel and Mimi are going to think we're off fucking, aren't they?"

Collins shudders. "Fuck off, Roger."

"No, I'm serious," Roger presses. "They're going to _kill _us."

"Roger," says Collins patiently, "the reason we have been acting ridiculous for the past three hours is because neither of us wish to speak about the freaking out that Mimi and Angel will do. Correct?"

Roger nods tentatively, and Collins snaps, "Well, you're ruining it."

"Sor-_ry_," Roger whines, and they lapse into silence.

---

"Collins?"

"Uh-huh?" growls the anarchist, who had just managed to achieve a position in which he could sleep.

"Could you, um… could you move your foot?"

Collins prods whatever surface he was touching, then recoils. "Sorry," he mumbles, and bunches up his legs, bent at the knee.

"Ow. Fuck."

"What _now_, Roger?"

Roger mumbles, "Bit my tongue."

"Aww. You want me to kiss it and make it better?"

With a chuckle, Roger sneers, "That didn't sound quite as sarcastic as you meant it to, I'm sure."

"You wish."

"Ew. No."

---

"Fuck you, Roger!"

The musician wails, "_What _am I doing _now_?"

"You keep talking in your fucking sleep!"

Roger snorts. "Not used to noises in bed, huh?"

"I refuse to answer that," Collins says decisively.

Grumbles Roger, "And I wasn't sleeping."

"No?"

"Nope."

Collins snickers. "You said 'Marky, stop hogging all the ponies.' So if you're saying you said that of your own accord, well, _okay_, but it just didn't sound like…"

"Okay, so maybe I was."

There is a brief silence.

"Collins?"

"Yes?"

"Did I say anything else?"

"You mean other than when you were asking Maureen to kiss you?"

Roger's hand slaps his forehead. "God, Collins."

"No, I'm serious."

"Really?"

"No."

---

It is two o'clock in the morning.

"Hey, know what?"

"WHAT, Roger?!"

Roger laughs. "Silly. No. I just realized – since there aren't any employees here, we could probably get away with not paying for whatever we're getting Mimi and Angel."

"Roger, you fuckhead, we didn't pick anything out yet."

"Yet."

Before Collins can realize what is happening, the lights are on, and Roger is standing in the middle of the salesroom. "Rise and shine, Captain CrankyPants!"

"Fuck off."

With a wail of disappointment, Roger protests, "Noooo! You have to help me find something!"

"Get her a fucking corset and let me sleep."

Roger's arms cross over his chest. "Fine. Party pooper."

"I am not!"

"Oooh, touchy."

"I am _not _a party pooper."

"Prove it," Roger challenges. "Help me find something for Mimi and then I'll help you find something for Angel."

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

Collins gets up, steps into the main room, and wonders how the hell that just happened.

---

"Okay, so lacy goldish corset-thing for Mimi," Roger varifies. "And… uh… this thing for Angel." He dangles the selected object by a string, wondering exactly how Collins intends to cut out the crotch when there barely _is _one.

Collins nods. "Now can we go?"

Roger checks the store clock. "It's six in the morning, Collins. In case you didn't notice, the store is closed."

"Yeah, and?" Collins retorts. He points to the emergency exit and approaches it. Before he can so much as touch the door, however, there is a shrill beeping audible throughout the room.

A monotone proclaims, "Presence of unauthorized individuals detected. Please vacate the premises immediately. Presence of unauthorized individuals detected. Please vacate the premises."

Sweeping the selected purchases into his hands, Roger dramatically jogs (in slow motion) towards the emergency exit. He applies all his weight to the door, pushes it back against the wall behind the store, and starts making his way to the loft.

"Hey! Collins!" he yells. "Where are you going?"

Collins rolls his eyes. "Home."

"Why? You know Angel's gonna be at the loft anyways, or with Mimi in her apartment."

Collins shrugs. "Good point. Let's go."

---

Twenty minutes later, four police officers arrive on the scene of Victoria's Secret to investigate the break-in. The only remaining trace of anybody's presence, however, is an abandoned pair of yellow sunglasses and a guitar pick, both found on the floor of a dressing room whose door has been left open.

"Fuck it," says one officer, and he and his partner leave the scene of the crime in search of doughnuts. Little do they know that when they run into a group of seven loud individuals feasting upon pastries in a café, they are coming face-to-face with the criminals whose existence they have just disproved.


End file.
